guys can land on the Chile side of the border and prepare for the hit on the base.
'We should let Mount Pleasant go about its business, because if we want to bring the Argentinians to heel, victory lies in Rio Grande, where they have more than a hundred aircraft. Hit that lot and they'll agree to anything.'
'As ever, Commander Hunter, I agree with your assessment,' said John Bergstrom. 'And my update from Washington this morning was very encouraging. The President of Chile has agreed to give us every support, from his airfields and military bases, and from his communications network.
'It's funny, the Args and the Chileans are near neighbors with much in common, but there's never been much love lost between them. They helped the Brits last time and they'll help us this time.'
'How many guys will you need for the main attack on Rio Grande?' asked Dallas.
'Probably forty.'
'But we only have twenty.'
'Correct,' said Admiral Bergstrom. 'But we'll send down another twenty to our forward base in readiness for the attack.'
'Forward base?' asked Dallas. 'Where's that?'
'Chile. We've been granted takeoff and landing facilities at the Chilean naval airfield in Punta Arenas. Heard that this morning from Admiral Morgan, while your boss was hurling himself into the stratosphere.'
'So we all join the submarine,' said Commander Hunter. 'Then my group leaves for Pebble Island in two inflatables, while the submarine continues on to land the underwater guys on East Cove for the Mare Harbor attack. Then my group finds Douglas Jarvis and his team, and we make our way to a rendezvous with the submarine, and haul the inflatables inboard again…if there's time.'
'Correct.'
'And what about the East Cove guys? How far away are they? And when do they rejoin the submarine?'
'Mare Harbor is approximately a hundred and thirty-five miles away from the eastern headland of Pebble. But the water's relatively deep and the SSN will make it in a little over five hours.
'The ship will pick up each group as it completes its task. Maybe it'll be yours, maybe the others. Then, with all twenty-eight of you on board, including the SAS, it makes all speed for the Magellan Strait, four hundred and forty miles away, where we rendezvous with a Chilean freighter, which will land you all at Punta Arenas to prepare for Rio Grande. All being well, Rick, you and your guys will leave almost immediately, by helicopter.'
'Time frame, sir?'
'Both SEAL teams leave here by air tomorrow afternoon at 1600,' said the Admiral. 'And that will put you over the drop zone north of the Falklands at 0700 Sunday morning, that's first light. We don't have a problem being seen that far north, and the submarine will have Group One right off Pebble Island by around 1700, just as the light starts to fade.
'The Pentagon has no record of any Argentine patrol up there for the past week after 1400. And anyway, we got depth to stay submerged right up to a couple miles offshore. At midnight, there'll be a HALO drop straight into your landing beach from a United States military aircraft flying higher than thirty thousand feet and transmitting only civilian radar.
'Rick, you've done this before, so you'll carry in the beam to guide the canister down. It'll contain all the explosive and detcord you'll need, timers, fuses, wire cutters, screwdrivers, shovels, extra food, a powerful satellite transmitter, and a big machine gun in case of emergency. You can bury the canister, and load the stuff into the inflatables for the outward journey to East Falkland, where you'll find Captain Jarvis.'
'Normally we'd carry a lot of this stuff, right, sir?' asked Dallas. 'It's just the ocean drop — can't get too weighed down with the gear?'
'That's correct. None of you have made a drop like this and the planners decided to land the equipment separately. You won't have any trouble. Commander Hunter knows all about it. He did it in darkest Russia, and no one caught him. Anyway, that's the broad game plan, and now we better get down to details.
'First off, there's six A4P Skyhawks parked on Pebble Island with nine of those Israeli Daggers. These are the guys that delivered the big thousand-pound bombs into the Royal Navy Fleet. The air base has a new, extended concrete runway, installed a couple of years ago by a consortium of the oil companies exploring offshore to the north. The new buildings, like the runway, were unused and have now been converted into an Argentinian command headquarters. They were, of course, unharmed during the recent conflict.
'There may be a seventy-five-strong force in there, that's aircrew, ground crew, and guards. It's really the only stronghold Argentina has in the north. But the last thing they'll have on their minds is having the air base assaulted. Remember, their enemy, the Brits, have very publicly left the area, and the Argentinians still hold many prisoners of war.'
Rick Hunter nodded. 'Sir, there's four eight-man hard-deck inflatables on board this damn great Navy submarine, right? Two for us, two for the others. Now they are going straight into East Cove to do their business and then straight out again to the ship — that's a round trip of less than ten miles.
'On the other hand, according to this chart, our best place to meet the SSN, after we locate Douglas Jarvis, is going to be the south end of Falkland Sound, and that sucker's fifty miles long, all the way down to Fox Bay.
'Now, Captain Jarvis is almost certainly on the west coast of East Falkland, probably trying to find a boat he can commandeer to get the hell out of there. So we are faced with a journey of around sixty miles from our landing beach all the way down the Sound, in a couple of high-powered Zodiacs, which burn gas like a fucking 747. I just want to make certain we've got enough…'
Admiral Bergstrom referred to his notes. 'One of those inflatables, running at ten knots without making much noise, uses a gallon every forty-two minutes. You'll hit the beach with full tanks — that's twenty gallons — enough for fourteen hours or a hundred and forty miles. If, for any reason, you have to floor it to make some kind of escape, which is unlikely, both boats carry two full four-and-a-half-gallon spare cans. Basically the boats can make two hundred miles apiece.'
'Thank you, sir. Just checking.'
'You're welcome, Commander.'
'Tell you something,' said Dallas. 'With full tanks those boats are going to be darned heavy to drag up the beach and conceal while we blow the airfield.'
'We thought of that,' replied the Admiral. 'The boats are each fitted with eight heavy-duty canvas handles. I agree they'd be darn heavy for a four-man team — no trouble for eight of you.'
Dallas nodded. 'Anyway, sir, I was forgetting. The Commander could probably carry the damn thing by himself.' The enormous strength of the SEAL Team Leader was still a well-known standard at Coronado; a standard that, it should be recorded, hardly anyone ever attained.
Right now Rick Hunter was making careful notes. Without looking up, he asked, 'We got an accurate GPS on the landing beach where the HALO's coming in?'
'It's 51.21.50 south, 59.27.00 west.'
'Midnight, right?'
'Affirmative.'
'We got a chart for the phases of the moon?'
'Right here.'
'What happens if the sea conditions are very severe and we have to hole up on the landing beach for a day or even two?'
'Not a problem. Just keep the SSN informed on the satellite. And Captain Jarvis, assuming you find him right away, which I think you will.'
The meeting had moved from a slightly haphazard beginning into a high-octane military planning session. And it stayed that way, an enclave of the most minute detail and forward thinking, until the five SEALs who would join Rick's team arrived at 1600.
There were two more demolition specialists, both Petty Officers First Class — Don Smith, from Chicago, another great bear of a man like the Commander, and Brian Harrison from Pennsylvania, whose exploits in the Iraq War had gained him a major reputation.
Seamen Ed Segal and Ron Wallace, both from Ohio, had also served in Iraq and were experienced in combat and boat handling. The final man, Chief Petty Officer Bob Bland, from Oklahoma, was inevitably known as 'Pigling,' but mostly behind his back, since he had won the station heavyweight boxing championship and was apt to react on
